


Times Like These

by JustAnAwkwardLesbian



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol/Alcoholism, FRERARD!, M/M, Major Character Death!, Read at Your Own Risk, Self Hate/Body Issues idk, Uh I'm tagging this as I write.., oh my god I'm evil.., this is going to be a hella long story priobably..
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 18:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7518407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnAwkwardLesbian/pseuds/JustAnAwkwardLesbian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In times like these, the best thing you can do is wait."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Best Thing We Can Do Is Wait...

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so yeah this is going to be a long story! Uh..idek..lots of feels, death, all that good stuff.. *nervous laughter*

_"In times like these, the best thing you can do is wait."_

Gerard still remembers that day, of course he does. It was gloomy, gray, rainy, exactly how you'd expect the day someone you love dies. But mostly it was surreal, disorienting, a dream you'd never wake up from, or that weird feeling when you miss a step and your stomach lurches, the feeling right before your feet come back in contact with the ground. Then, a millisecond later he was pulled out of that bizarre shock induced trance, his feet hit the ground hard. The true weight of the situation finished processing in his mind, and his heart was ripped right out of his chest, his lungs seemed to collapse mid-gasp, his legs failed him. He was the definition of hysteria. Gerard cried, of course he did, his brother died in his arms. His one true friend, the person that got him through everyday, left him behind. He knew it would happen, it had been a matter of days at that point, but knowing something is going to happen doesn't necessarily change your reaction to what happens. Gerard remembers the exact time, of course he does.

_"Time of death, 2:17 PM, January 22nd, 2010"_

Though after those awful words found his ears, he blacked out.


	2. Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok this is the second chapter!  
> Uh..idk I have a whole thing planned out, and I am so sorry because I'm evil, I kinda cried writing this..please give me feedback btw! Any kind is welcome, just tell me what you think!  
> Thanks! |xoxoS•p|–|¡A|

_6 years later: 2016, January 22nd._

Gerard had a routine now. He wakes up at 9, that is if he slept at all, drinks 5 cups of coffee a day, paints, smokes, draws, goes to school, and then tries to sleep. Usually he lies in bed, plagued by memories, embarrassing moments, things he regrets, the worst ones are the good memories though, which pretty much revolve around Mikey. 

A few years earlier he had graduated high school, a year after that he left his mothers basement, it held too many memories. He got into art school and moved into a tiny apartment in the city.  
He's 20 now, he thinks it's a crappy age, he's old enough to smoke, which he does everyday, but still too young to drink. He really wants to drink, he practically daydreams about it. Gerard's too chicken to get a fake id though, plus he promised Mikey he'd be good. Oh, fuck, he misses Mikey, he misses him so much.  
That's the reason why he's currently crying in an alley next to a tattoo parlor right now. Gerard is terrified, no, terrified isn't accurate enough a word to describe it, utterly horrified, by needles. He doesn't know why, it's just always been like that, Mikey used to hold his hand when he got shots as a kid, hug him when he cried afterward.

Everyone thought Mikey was the older one, for good reasons too, hell, when the kid was 9 he spoke like a 20 year old. Maturity radiated from him, only his looks and the occasional temper tantrum gave him away, although even his temper tantrums could barely be called tantrums, he kind of just stomped around and pouted, maybe whined a bit. He never raised his voice.  
Anyways, Gerard decided one day a few months ago, that he wanted a tattoo of Mikey's initials, the day he died, and his favorite flower, a dandelion. It was cheesy, Gerard knew that. He didn't really care though, he needed to do something in Mikey's memory. Something permanent, something he'd take with him until the day he died, because Mikey wouldn't be there with him. Gerard also knew that the tattoo would involve needles, but he decided against thinking about that, so he booked an appointment for January 22nd. It seemed poetic. 

But now it was January 22nd, and Gerard was crying in an alley behind the tattoo parlor. If you asked him why exactly, he wouldn't be able to tell you, it was everything at once, it was the past 6 years, it was the date, it was the needles, it was the fact that no one would hold his hand today. No one would be there while those stupid tiny needles stabbed ink into his skin. He had to do this though, he needed the closure, because in the end, that was really what the tattoo was about. 

The appointment was in 5 minutes now, if he was going to go through with this he had to put himself back together. So he did. With the help of a sudden shocking amount of determination and some tissues, he got up, cleaned his face, and walked into the shop.

Determination couldn't help with his shaking though, and so he stuttered like an idiot and tapped his foot nervously as he told the artist what he wanted. He nearly cried out in pain when the needles first touched his skin, he did cry though, he fucking sobbed. He tried to cover it up with a cold. The guy sticking needles into him didn't buy it, he didn't seem to mind either, so long as Gerard kept still. 

Although when he finally left the shop, after what seemed like hours of torture, he thought he heard someone mutter "Fucking fag," at his back. He could care less at the moment though, his arm hurt like hell, and he couldn't stop staring at the bandage wrapping around it.

_April 9th, 2016._

It's Gerard's birthday. His 21st to be exact. He didn't feel any different though. He felt like he should feel different, it was one of those birthdays after all. You know, 10, 13, 16, 18, 21, etc. The special ones, the ones that marked a coming of age, a new era, or something of a legal matter. Gerard didn't feel different though, he felt like crying more than anything. Because it had finally dawned on him, how incredibly alone he really is. Most people who turn 21 have friends or parents to take them out to a bar and celebrate. Gerard has no one.

Before he'd been too busy, or too caught up in his own mind that he'd never really realized how isolated he is. He never really talks to anyone unless it's necessary. Now, on his 21st, it's finally sunk in, and he's never felt more lonely. 

But, for the most part, he keeps his routine. Only when the sky starts to turn golden and pink, does he stop. Slowly he rummages in the pile of clothes in the middle of his room. He finds something he deems suitable to wear out in public, grabs his phone and leaves his dingy apartment. 

Gerard grabs a taxi to the nearest bar. It doesn't really matter where he goes, as long as there's alcohol.  
He has 20 shots before he get cut off and kicked out. So he goes to the nearest liquor store, buys the strongest drink he can find and gets a taxi home. He passes out in his own puke before he gets to open the bottle of whiskey though.

* * *

  
_Gerard's a sobbing mess on the floor of the waiting room. He feels the gentle touch of sister Helena's hand on his shoulder, a feeble attempt to comfort him. He's only 14, it isn't fair for him to go through this. No wait, it isn't fair for Mikey, he's only 10. "I-I don't know what to do anymore," he stutters out between sobs. Behind him, the nun sighs. He's expecting her to say something like, "pray," or "have faith in God." But she stays quiet for a moment, then, her voice soft, she mutters, "In times like these, the best thing you can do is wait."  
He can hear the sadness in her voice, seeping through her calm exterior, it's unnerving, and Gerard cries harder. That's the only sound for a long while. Eventually the door in the corner of the room opens, and a nurse steps out, she stays professional even as Gerard shouts and screams at her, begging to know what state Mikey's in. She only responds with, "Follow me, you can see him now."_


	3. Hangovers..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: self hate, body issues, etc.  
> Idk hangovers and shit. Sorry this is so short I've had writers block and I'm on vacation right now kinda, so I've been spending a lot of time with family and shit..

_July 4th 2016_

Gerard groans, rubbing at the circles under his eyes. It felt like someone was trying to crack his head open with a sledgehammer. It got worse whenever he tried to look up, for how crappy his apartment was, it got surprisingly good light.

His whole living room, which really wasn't that big, practically glowed in the golden light that filtered through the shades. Gerard would have usually thought this was beautiful, but he had the worlds worst headache. It was his own fault really, and that's what he hated most about this situation. He had no one to blame but himself, after all, he'd been the one that downed a whole 6 pack of beer, and a shot of vodka.

He didn't even like vodka, he actually hated it, but it got the job done. The job being to get him as drunk as possible in the shortest amount of time. Yeah, Gerard was pathetic, and he knew it, he reminded himself everyday. He didn't take any action towards not being pathetic, he just dwelled on it. Moping is easier than making changes.

Gerard attempts to look up, he needed some aspirin, a glass of water would be good too, but he'd settle for some beer. He immediately regrets his action, the throbbing pain in his head transfers to his stomach, and a wave of nausea washes over him. And he's puking his guts out. He doesn't even try to find a trash can or garbage bag, it's too late for that.

After awhile it seems that everything previously in his stomach now finds its home on his carpet and couch. He thinks there might be some in his hair as well. Ever since his 21st birthday, there'd been nothing to stop him from drinking, except guilt and barely having enough money for food, let alone drinks and art supplies. But he somehow he managed, bought the cheapest shit he could find, 'course it only made the hangovers worse. It was worth it Gerard's fucked up mind though.

When he woke up again he was covered in puke, it was fucking crusty, and smelled like shit. It almost made him puke again. Slowly he climbs off his couch, light headed and dizzy, his legs felt too weak to support him. He peeled his clothes off and threw them towards the corner off the room, there was already a pile forming.

Naked, he walked into his kitchen, grabbing any and all supplies that could clean up the mess. He was definitely gross, but not gross enough to let that mess stay in his living room. Well it was barely a living room but still. When he was satisfied that the mess was gone he practically ran to the bathroom. He needed a shower. It'd probably been a month since his last one.

Gerard practically moaned when the hot water hit his skin, rinsing the grime and puke away. Tonight he was going out. And actually going out, it was July 4th, and fuck, he needed to get laid. He needed to get out of his house, and not just to buy crappy liquor. He actually managed to find his nice clothes, his hair definitely needed re-dying, there was about an inch of dark brown roots before the vibrant firetruck red hair.

But it didn't matter, it was dark already, everyone would be drunk, it wouldn't be too hard to find someone to fuck his pathetic ass. Then again, he thought as he stared at his reflection, his tight black skinny jeans barely fight over his stomach, and if he took off his black fake leather jacket, real leather was too expensive, you could still see stretch marks going up and down his arm from his teenage years. He sighed, trying to brush away the self doubt seeping into his bones, making him cringe every time he saw another imperfection through the mirror.


End file.
